I am writing this the morning before Christmas Eve, 2024. Two mornings from now the Christ child will have been born again and that evening the first candle of Hanukkah will be lit. The candles on the Advent wreath will have given way to the first candle on the menorah. Christian homes will have red and gold paper strewn about, children over-sugared and cranky, and everyone needing a day of rest. In Jewish homes, gift-opening may just be beginning. According to the Gospel of John, Jesus celebrated Hanukkah, also known as the Feast of Dedication. Thus the beliefs of many flourish in their winter celebrations.
When we were children, our birthdays and Christmases were magical. Especially when we believed in Santa Clause, but even later as we were off school and there was snow, enough for snowforts and sledding and snowball fights. We didn't have to shop or plan or cook until later in our lives. As children, Christmas didn't put us in debt. At our house, Grandma Giesler brought the ham, or some years hosted a turkey dinner in her dining room. We cousins were spoiled.
Years later my mother, by then a grandmother, made Christmas stockings for all of us--red quilted fabric with green rick-rack, trimmed with appliqués, beads and jingle bells. We draw names, like a secret Santa gift exchange. In this way, she is still part of our celebration. My Grandma Giesler's lace tablecloth has been our tree skirt for years.
One year I made Christmas dinner in borrowed electric skillets and served it from the Clubhouse of the apartment complex where we lived.
Now I am third from the oldest in my immediate family. More Christmases behind than ahead. They are still magical. Everything about the preparation is magical. I get to cut the greens from our forest, the berried branches from the holly and fill the vases with fragrant pine. I tell Alexa to "play classical Christmas music." I wait for gifts to arrive on our stoop. I go to cheerful, busy grocery stores to shop. We keep the Advent candles company each Sunday and still send and receive a few Christmas cards in the mail. Our Jewish friends are almost ready for their holy days to begin.
And the celebrations will continue. The shortest week of the year, between Christmas and New Year's, most of us see more family and friends. Even those who work those days, get an extra day at New Year's. The nights are still long and dark and give us breathing room. Don't we always look forward to a new year?
I hope to someday be remembered as my own grandmothers are, as someone who gave love and special attention, who imparted faith and joy and whom they might wish to emulate.
Merry Christmas to all. Nina Naomi
